


Stuck in Wichita

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluffy, M/M, Thanksgiving Fic, sick!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:51:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He ignores his dad’s warning-but-concerned voice. “Dad, I’m turning eighteen. I’m not spending the day in bed. I’ve spent the past three days in bed puking into a trash can. I’m done.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck in Wichita

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cigarettestainedeyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettestainedeyes/gifts).



> Nov 23rd is my friend Rachel's birthday, and she's been sick, so I wrote this for her!

“Stiles.”

He ignores his dad’s warning-but-concerned voice. “Dad, I’m turning eighteen. I’m not spending the day in bed. I’ve spent the past three days in bed puking into a trash can. I’m done.”

His dad doesn’t look convinced. “Stiles, you know no one minds having the dinner a few days late.”

Stiles shakes his head resolutely. “No. We are having turkey and mac n’ cheese and rolls and eggs and mashed potatoes tomorrow. We are having sparkling cider and soda and wine. We are having Thanksgiving, and that’s final.”

His dad rolls his eyes and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like _‘so much like your mother’_  but Stiles can’t be sure. “We’ll see.” Is what his dad tells him. “Just get some rest, don’t hesitate to holler if you need something.”

Stiles waves him away. “Just you watch. Tomorrow, I’ll be bright eyed and bushy tailed.

)

Stiles gets out of bed the next morning without feeling nauseous. He takes the stairs two at a time without getting dizzy. He skids into the kitchen Risky Business style and promptly vomits into the sink before passing out.

)

When he wakes up again, he’s tucked tight and warm in bed; the curtains are drawn, there’s fresh water and Advil by his bed, and Derek is looming in the corner. “Dude,” Stiles winces, because his stuffy nose and resulting voice is worse than before. “I’m in no position to help right now.”

Derek grumbles. “I know that. I’m here to make sure you don’t do something stupid.”

“Wha? Dad—?”

“He got called in for a couple domestic disputes and house fires.”

Stiles shakes his head. “People and deep-fried turkey, man. They’re obsessed.” Stiles struggles to sit up so he can drink the water properly. “So, what, you volunteered to be my nanny?”

Derek’s face pinks. “Not quite.”

Stiles sips the water silently and Derek looks anywhere but him. “My dad came in here to tell me and caught you sneaking in through the window, didn’t he?”

Derek bares his teeth but Stiles just laughs.

“Dude. You’re so lame.” Stiles grins, feeling tired. “I’m going back to sleep, and since it’s my birthday I’m requesting that when I wake up there’s a bowl of ice cream and an extra large curly fries waiting for me.” Stiles doesn’t wait for an answer, he just sets the empty glass aside and rolls over.

)

He wakes up to the smell of perfectly seasoned fries. Derek sets a tray across Stiles’ lap. Stles moans, stuffily, and coughs. “Dude, you’re the literal best.”

Derek shuffles uncomfortably. “Do you need more medicine?”

“Nah,” Stiles scoops ice cream into him mouth on a raft of curly fries. “Maybe more water, though.” He swallows noisily. “And a movie. We could watch it on my laptop.”

Derek nods. “What movie?”

“I bought  _Plains, Trains, and Automobiles_. It’s downstairs on the PS3.”

Derek nods again and leaves.

When he returns, Stiles is setting aside the empty bowl and greedily accepting the water. He points Derek to the desk where his laptop sits. “This is the best movie for Thanksgiving. We used to watch it every year.” Stiles scoots so that Derek can sit beside him after kicking off his boots. “We were gonna watch it this year since we haven’t since she died, but.” Stiles shrugs. “This works too.” He shoots a grin at Derek, who nods with an expression only slightly less tense than usual.

“My mom hated this movie,” he says as the credits start, “but we watched it because it was my dad’s favorite.”

Stiles takes a chance and settles in closer to Derek. Then he pulls away. “Dude we have the heat up super high.” He plucks at the sleeve of the leather jacket. “Take it off.”

Derek doesn’t even complain, just peels the jacket off and tosses it off the bed. Stiles grins and settles in close again, the laptop balanced on their bumping knees.

“I apologize in advance if I drool and-or sneeze on you.”

Derek grins and Stiles can feel it in the shift of muscles from where the top of his head is pressed against Derek’s chin. “It’s okay. I’ll forgive you. This time.”

Stiles grins and feels the sleep tickling at the edges of his vision again. “Thanks for taking care of me, or whatever.”

Stiles is about to doze off, right as Steve Martin trips over the suitcase, when he feels dry lips kiss his temple. Derek’s voice is warm against his skin, “pack.”


End file.
